


We Close Our Eyes

by DittyWrites



Series: Scarecrow/Riddler Shenanigans [11]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Medication, Slice of Life, Snark, Stitches, Threats, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 07:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11824128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DittyWrites/pseuds/DittyWrites
Summary: After being attacked and left to suffer by Black Mask until his eventual rescue by Poison Ivy, it is now up to Jonathan to care for Edward and help to heal his various wounds.





	We Close Our Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically a Part 2 to this fic 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/11542140
> 
> but it can be read independently if ya so wish xx
> 
> I pulled the title outta my ass so i apologise for the shite title.

Resting a hand against the closed door, Jonathan took in a deep breath before turning back into his lair. An unpleasant mixture of concern and anger was simmering in his stomach and he had to actively fight the urge to awaken Edward and offer him a few choice words in terms of this situation. He had warned Edward against interfering with Black Masks' business in this regard, particularly when he was insistent on doing so alone, and as he gazed at the unconscious figure on his couch he felt unhappily vindicated.

Holding two fingers to the pulse point in Edwards' neck, he mentally took account of the strength and tempo of the pulse. It was strong enough to not raise any real concerns and he hurried into the kitchen to gather up one of the larger medical kit when he kept hidden for emergencies.

This kit contained all the basic items which a kit should possess mixed in with some hospital grade painkillers and tools which were unable for purchase at the average drugstore. All stolen, of course, but being a costumed criminal in a city as dangerous as Gotham required a certain private collection to ensure continued success.

Returning to the couch, Jonathan placed the kit on the small table to his side and started his examination of his partner. His medical training was very basic, limited to what he had learned during his classes at University and then Arkham, plus what he had been forced to learn in private since in order to survive.

He was no Thomas Elliott, but he wasn't exactly ignorant either.

With a clinical detachment, he used small scissors to cut away the shirt which covered the gash in Edwards' stomach so that he could have a closer look. The combination of fresh and dried blood made it difficult to determine the extent of the damage so he used one of the anti-bacterial wipes to clean the area around the wound before depositing the blood-soaked wipe in a heap on the floor.

Five inches long and a few centimetres deep.

It would require stitches.

Pulling out a syringe from the kit, he tore open the packaging with his teeth before filling it with a small amount of stolen adrenaline. Unfortunately, Edward would need to be awake for the next part.

A small stoke of luck as Edwards' veins were responsive and it took Jonathan less than a minute to deposit the full amount into his system and he prepared for the genius to revive by holding him in place with a firm grip to prevent any further injury.

The adrenaline brought consciousness to Edward violently and he jerked in place for a second before issuing a long groan. Unwilling or able to wait, Jonathan started his questioning quickly and he allowed his tone to become urgent to impress the seriousness of the situation.

“What caused the wound to your abdomen and will there be any extra debris embedded deeper within it?”

“Sharp sheet metal and I doubt it.” Edward answered without missing a beat, voice clouded by his various pains.

Nodding mechanically at the admission, Jonathan set out the chemicals to clean the wound.

“On a scale of one to ten, I need you to rate your pain,”, stabbing a new syringe into the vial filled with pain medication, Jonathan paused, “but remember that I need you to be coherent so please refrain from exaggeration.”

“Six bordering seven.” Edward muttered, a slight pout on his busted lip as he was forced to answer honestly.

A low hum emitted from Jonathan as he averaged the appropriate amount of painkiller which he felt would be enough for his needs before tapping on Edwards' arm again to locate a vein. His gaze never wavered from Edwards' and he watched the involuntary blink of pain as the needle was inserted and then removed.

Rubbing the area of injection with the pad of his finger in an absent-minded fashion to dull the sting, Jonathan saw the pain which clouded Edwards' expression lessen as the drugs took hold of him and his eyes became glazed as a satisfied smile twisted at his lips.

“Much better, dear.”

Edwards' hand gripped at his own and as he lifted it to his lips, Jonathan could see him limb shaking with the effort as Edwards' lips touched the back of his hand in thanks.

“I need to clean and sew your abdominal wound,” Jonathans' words were clipped, bordering no room for argument, “and then I will concentrate on your other injuries.”

Soaking a flannel in anti-bacterial liquid, Jonathan paused.

“Despite the medication, this is going to hurt.”

Edwards' response was barely vocal but Jonathan swore he heard a grumbled 'oh joy' within the whisper. As he pressed the flannel to the wound a wince overcame him as Edward released a howl like a wounded animal and his body straightened as he jerked away.

Without pausing, Jonathan continued to swipe and dab the flannel around the open wound as he removed any possible debris and dirt with a steady hand.

Next up, he needed a medical needle and thread.

Cleansing the needle, Jonathan slid the thread through the eye with no difficulty at all, his years of constructing his own costumes allowing his practiced hand to remain as steady as a surgeons, and he knelt on the floor by Edwards' elevated body.

“Ready?”

“Do it.” Came the gritted response.

As the needle slid into Edwards' vulnerable flesh it brought forth a flinch and a low noise of dissent but Jonathan focused his attention on the task at hand. It was better to complete it quickly than to drag it out for the patients comfort. There was an almost hypnotic quality to such an act as the rhythm of the needle sweeping and bursting through both sides of the skin was complimented by the closing of the wound as it was slowly pulled together.

The flinching had stopped too and whether this was due to Edwards' acceptance of the pain or because the medication had truly started to kick in, Jonathan did not know but he was thankful for it as the lack of movement enabled him to work faster.

Tying the end of the thread and snipping off the remainder with scissors, Jonathan reclined to admire the small, neat stitches. As with most of his work it was clean and efficient. Perfect.

“Now that you are no longer in any immediate danger,” although his voice was conversational, Jonathan was in no mood for light chatter, “do you want to explain to me exactly what type of thoughtless stupidity clouded your mind to allow this to happen?”

Boring his eyes into Edwards' face, Jonathan attempted to catch his eye but was unable to due to the other mans expertise in darting his gaze at anything which was not himself. However, through the hand he had left on Edwards' stomach he could feel Edwards' body tensing until it was as stiff as steel before relaxing and repeating the process.

“What are you doing?” Confused, he had to inquire.

His eyes still on the ceiling, Edward held an expression of pure concentration.

“I am attempting to force myself to pass out to avoid the lecture which I can see waiting to spill forth from your thin lips.” Edward confessed as a muscle in his jaw twitched. “Not to be rude, dear, but I am beyond it at the moment.”

A loud yelp escaped Edward as Jonathan pushed down on his shoulder with a single finger.

“As I suspected,” Jonathan hid a smirk of satisfaction at the girlish yelp, “this is also dislocated.”

“And you could not tell that from the swelling? I could have told you that if you had the foresight to ask!” Edward hissed as his eyes zeroed in on his shoulder. It had been throbbing unpleasantly since he had been hoisted over the streetlight but he had almost forgotten about it due to the other, more pressing, injuries.

“As I scientist I must always test my hypothesis before coming to a fair conclusion.”

“Asshole.” Edward muttered.

Placing the flat of his palm across the shoulder, Jonathan slid his other hand behind it and aligned them so that he was in a position to fix the injury. It wouldn't be the first joint he had to relocate and he doubted it would be the last.

“You may want to relax for this.”

“Wait, what?” Edwards' head swiveled around in panic as he caught Jonathans' warning. “Relax for what? Surely you do not mean to do it right no-”

Edwards' words were cut off by a sharp cry as Jonathan pushed down with a sudden force and a loud 'pop' resounded from the now-relocated joint.

Pleased with the result, Jonathan indicated the shoulder with one hand.

“That.”

“Asshole!”

Hurling the insult with a touch more force than before, Edward grudgingly shimmied his shoulder to check that Jonathan had in fact succeeded in his efforts. The entire area ached and even through the pain medication he could still feel it like a low hum at the edge of his awareness.

“Do you have any other major pains to be attended to?” Jonathan asked. “I cannot have you dying on my couch as I lack the budget to replace it.”

“I think you'll find that it was my money which bought this couch,” Edward responded haughtily, “since you did not have the budget to buy one in the first place. And no, no other injuries,” he paused, “aside from what those imbeciles did to my ruggedly handsome face.”

“Ruggedly handsome?” A quiet mutter of questioning dissent was all that Jonathan could manage as he started to pack away the medical supplies which he had produced, leaving out a damp cloth for Edward to clean his face with.

“So why do you think Black Mask let you live?” He continued.

Cracking his knuckles with the thumbs of his hands, Edwards' expression soured at the mention of the source of his current misery.

“This was a warning to stay out of his business,” cracking one finger just a little too sharply, Edward winced, “but he knew that killing me would kick the proverbial hornets nest and he was unwilling to deal with that. Sionis is brash, sadistic and ruthless, but he is not that foolish.”

Jonathan slid the box of supplies away to the side and handed Edward the damp cloth.

“Is the 'proverbial hornets nest' a reference to myself?” Jonathans' eyebrow shot up. “What makes you think I would involve myself in your nonsense?”

He would.

Without hesitation.

But it was fun to watch Edwards' eyes narrow at the implied disinterest.

“Aside from you,” electing to ignore him, Edward continued, “Selina could be counted on to help avenge my tragic loss.” He paused. “But that is most likely due to the fact that she would use any excuse to rip chunks from Back Masks' face with those diamond-tipped claws of hers. She hates him with an extreme vehemence which surprises me to this day.”

As Edward brought that cloth to his face, Jonathan was quick to note the shaking of his hand as a result of the medication and, quite possibly, mild shock.

“If Selina involves herself then it is highly probable that both Harley and Ivy will rear their heads as well, if only to cause trouble for Sionis, and there are very few individuals in Gotham foolish enough to raise the ire of all three of the Gorgon sisters.”

The shaking of his hand was giving Edward some considerable trouble as he struggled to hold the fabric tightly enough to be able to cleanse his face and Jonathan gave a low sigh as he plucked it from his grasp.

“You are aware that they would kill you for such a description.”

A rough chuckle escaped him as he swiped Edwards' brow with the cloth to remove the small beads of sweat and grime which covered it as he concentrated on cleaning the small cut which was decorating Edwards' well-groomed left eyebrow.

At the contact, Edward closed his left eye to allow Jonathan full access to the injured area while his open eye made contact with Jonathans' own and the scientist was momentarily distracted by the conflicting flashes of pain and contentment which those intelligent green eyes were broadcasting his way.

Tilting Edwards' chin with a spindly hand, he used a clean section of the cloth to softly dab away the collection of dried blood which Edwards' burst lip had caused to accumulate in the corner of his mouth and lower chin. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he cradled Edwards' head.

Despite the anger which he was holding back at Edwards' own foolishness and Black Masks' audacity to even attack Edward in such a way, he did not wish to harm Edward any further or hinder his healing with some small petty act which would give him a moments satisfaction.

Plus, Edward was practically purring at the attention which he was being provided with and a content Edward made for a much more manageable patient while he was recovering from his injuries.

“So do you have a plan in place to retaliate against this insult? Remember, Ivy herself had to save you and that debt that you owe her now is entirely the fault of Sionis.”

It was a pointless question, Jonathan knew that, but he was curious as to what type of vengeance Edward had in store.

“As I said earlier,” Edwards' tone held a slyness which it had previously lacked, “Sionis is sadistic and ruthless, so it seems prudent to fight fire with fire?”

With some effort, Edward slid his hand off his body and brought it up to rest on the back of Jonathans' neck and the clammy nature of it caused a small shiver at the base of Jonathans' spine.

“How long has it been since you truly let the Scarecrow out to play?”

At the words, Jonathan felt another shiver in his spine, this one of an entirely different nature, as a wicked smile which promised untold misfortune lit up his traditionally stoic face.

“What did you have in mind?”

 


End file.
